Anthem of the Angels
by Known Continuum
Summary: Horribly abused, Harry knows his days are numbered—and it is only made worse when his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire. Harry x Viktor Krum. Warning: abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**There is a severe lack of good Harry Potter x Viktor Krum fanfictions on this site, and it is devestating! So, I'm going to do my part, and adding some!**

**Title:** Anthem of the Angels  
**Summary:** Horribly abused, Harry knows his days are numbered—and it is only made worse when his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire. Hiding secrets he's never told anyone, one Bulgarian suddenly finds himself very interested in the Boy-Who-Lived, and the other Champions are eager to help and befriend Harry when he's given up hope.  
**Warnings:** Abuse, gore-like descriptions, toying with the canon time line.

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**Prologue**

The compartment was silent, only the sounds of the Hogwarts Express chugging on the rails echoing in the heavy air with the occasional turn of the page from Hermione. Ron was gazing absently out the window, drumming his fingers against his knee every now and again as his eyes flickered to his two friends. The dark haired boy who shared the compartment was asleep, his head resting against the window while he curled into the corner as much as he could. He had told his companions that he hadn't been getting sleep, that nightmares of You-Know-Who were plaguing his subconscious, but it was a lie. In fact, the teenager hadn't dreamt in weeks; in reality, he was suffering from heavy blood loss, his veins not carrying enough oxygen through his body. He managed to make a blood replenishing potion at the Dursleys, in his little cupboard late at night when they were tucked safely in their beds, and it sustained him for a little bit. Judging by the way his abdominals were swelling, he was suffering from internal bleeding—at least, that was what he read in one of Petunia's dusty medical books.

"Harry, wake up," Hermione called, shaking his shoulder. The pain from where her fingers brushed was enough for his consciousness to rouse, dulled emerald eyes blinking open slowly as he sat up but didn't dare stretch his body. Instead he nodded his thanks, though the bushy haired girl had already turned away, and stood up to leave. Immediately, a light headed feeling met him, vision going black for several seconds before he managed to get ahold of himself and follow Ron out, neither friend none the wiser. It was dark out, the first years chatting loudly in both excitement and nervousness, and Harry found them to be far too loud, an ache the size of his fist growing in the left side of his head.

The walk to the castle was uneventful, though with every step Harry found himself more and more thankful he was finally to the place he called home. Where stone walls and the touch of magic would comfort him, where he wouldn't be called a freak and beaten without cause, where he could occupy a space larger than a closet and eat actual food. Yes, he had a scare that he wouldn't survive this summer, what with Vernon acquiring a hunting knife from a friend at work, but here he was, walking between Ron and Hermione and feeling the fresh air of the night. He was alive, and he had survived.

By the time they reached the castle, his breathing was labored, and he was sure he was going to pass out, the aggravating ache of his right ankle becoming all he could think about, all he could focus on so he didn't lose his consciousness. The lights of the Great Hall brought a warmth to his heart as he took a seat at the table with Ron beside him and Hermione across from him. They had made small talk along the way, bringing up summer or who they had heard from, but Harry couldn't bring himself to focus or participate. Instead, he was quiet, nodding or shaking his head when a question was directed to him, speaking only when absolutely necessary because of how terribly hoarse his voice was, vocal cords damaged from strangulation. The first time he spoke, to answer Hermione's questions of what classes he'd be taking, more questions arose, his friends wanting to know why he sounded the way he did. He lied, naturally, telling them it was from a muggle cold.

When Rupert Hagrid had shown up at the little house on the rock in the sea, and told Harry he was a wizard, the truth of his entire life seemed to make sense right at that moment. Petunia always told him he was worthless, a freak, lucky she dared even look at his disgusting persona. Vernon was no better, worse, in fact; always saying he'd beat the 'freak' out of Harry, before punishing him for just breathing with a belt, lighter, anything he could get his grubby hands on. Dudley was a nasty combination of his mother and father. The reason for their cruelty was suddenly so obvious, it was a wonder he couldn't figure it out before—they hated magic. He was hated, beaten, starved, just because he could do something they couldn't. He made odd things happen, so he couldn't even claim their reason was unjustified.

He tried to tell someone when he came to Hogwarts. First, he told Hagrid, who told him to tell the headmaster, Dumbledore. It took a while for him to get to the man's office, and at first, Harry was hopeful. The headmaster seemed kind, was pleasant to talk to, and acted almost like a grandfather—until the subject of Harry's abuse was brought up. The man kindly told him that he was young, exaggerating on what was obviously a disagreement in the family. The young boy wanted to shout, pull of his robes and show the Headmaster it was not a disagreement, it was wrong, but he chose to stay silent because of the steeled look in the wizards eyes. Dumbledore wasn't the only one he tried to tell, but they all essentially told him the same thing. He was eleven years old, didn't know what abuse was, or that he was the Wizarding World's savior, they'd never beat him. The worse response of them all had been someone accusing him of crying out for attention. So, he never brought it up with anyone again, and it got increasingly worse each year he returned to the Dursley's house.

The Headmaster gave the same speech he gave ever year, changing a few words here and there, but Harry didn't pay attention—couldn't, really. He was struggling to stay awake, propping his elbow on the table top to keep him up while his eyelids drooped. Ron elbowed him once because he had fallen asleep. But finally, Dumbledore concluded the feast, the sorting was complete, and dinner was served. As eager as he was to get food in him, the teenager knew his stomach could not handle something of large quantities, or very solid. So he settled with a piece of dry toast, and half a glass of pumpkin juice, quietly passing it off as not being very hungry.

Later that night, tucked under the safety of his invisibility cloak, Harry made his way through the halls with quiet, careful steps, the marauder's map open in front of him to monitor whoever might be out, since it was close to one in the morning. Avoiding teacher patrols, he arrived to the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey was already tucked in for the night. He found the cabinet, and took all the supplies he'd need. Several blood replenishing potions, bone reparations, salves for bruising and burns, bandages and nutrient potions. With his newly acquired supplies, he headed back the way he came, and instead of going to the Gryffindor commons, he headed for the second floor girls lavatory, where he wouldn't be interrupted by anyone aside from Moaning Myrtle, and she was already sworn to secrecy.

This was his routine. Every year back since his second, he would sneak into the medical wing and take what he needed, before hiding away to tend to his wounds. Several blood replenishing potions were needed, and he oftentimes needed to go back for more because his healing magic was nonexistent. Bandages were his only hope for stopping cuts from bleeding.

Setting his things down on the counter, he was pleased the ghost was not present. She never said much when he came to mend himself, though she stared and stared, and it made him uneasy. He sighed softly as he released the glamours he'd been wearing, though made sure not to look into the mirror. It had been three years since he looked into a mirror. Carefully, he stripped the blood drenched robes from his body, having cast a sponge-charm on them so they didn't drip all over the floor in the transit to Hogwarts, before looking down at himself. Nearly every inch of his body was covered in bruising, ranging from blue to purple to a sickening yellow, and intermixed with the abrasions were cuts of different depths and lengths. Several of them were obviously infected, requiring disinfectant and no doubt healing potions, but that just wasn't something he had, or was willing to seek.

What if he went to Madam Pomfrey, asked her to tend to him? She would tell Dumbledore, and Harry was one-hundred percent certain that the man wouldn't help. He'd be treated, certainly, but Dumbledore would never solve the root of the problem—the Dursley's. Harry would be fixed, and sent on his merry way, until next year. Though Harry was certain he wouldn't survive another year.

Eyes cast down at his naked body, the teenager sudden felt ill with the disgusting state he was in, and barely managed to bend over the sink before he was purging everything in his stomach—the juice, dried toast, and blood, the latter liquid nothing new. With a dry heave, he leaned up, and set to work trying to prolong his survival just a little bit more.

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**Is there a fanbase for this pairing? If there is, I would love reviews on what you think of the story! Chapters will hopefully be longer in the future!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is another chapter! Seriously, all of you who reviewed have given me hope; there is a fanbase for this marvelous pairing! The world needs more Harry and Viktor! Well, I'm going to do my part. Warnings from the prologue still apply here.**

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"Harry? Are you all right? You aren't looking so well."

Green eyes looked up almost lazily from the soup he'd been trying to consume, the once vivid color now dulled and weak. In comparison, however, his body wasn't fairing much better. It had been a month since he'd returned to Hogwarts, and several of his graver injuries had been resolved. Bruises were still visible without the glamour, though they were no longer the ugly blue and yellow, but a faded purple. Yet, the young boy knew he'd never remove the glamour, even once the bruises and what was left of the cuts and burns fully healed; it would reveal the god-awful scaring that made him every bit a freak his Uncle accused him of being.

"Fine," he lied. The boy kept his voice at quiet tones, because while it was no longer hoarse, the vocal cords were still healing. "Just, ah, a little tired." Hermione either believed his lie or didn't actually care enough to seek the truth; Harry suspected the latter.

Over the past month, he'd been slowly growing further and further apart from his two friends; certainly not from lack of trying, though. Realizing his silence might have been hurtful to the duo, Harry tried to amend the problem. He spoke more, made more attempts at conversation, tried to keep himself involved despite his condition. It was a lot more difficult than he thought it would be to make his malnourished and battered body walk the halls to the library with Hermione, or out to the Quidditch field with Ron. However, it soon became apparent that it wasn't helping the situation, so he stopped forcing himself to talk and go places that physically tired him out.

It completely baffled him. What could he have done to drive them away? _Did_ he do something, or had they finally realized he brought danger with him wherever he went? Whatever the reason was, however, it hurt a lot more than he could bring himself to admit. He barely had anyone he could call a friend, much less family; Sirius and Lupin, though he could barely contact them nowadays, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley family. What if the Weasley's all tried to distance themselves just like Ron was doing? What if all the things Vernon said were true, even though he tried desperately to not allow himself to think so? He was useless, good for nothing, a freak.

His rumination was disturbed by sudden excitement from his table mates, few students at the door of the hall yelling for their friends to 'come quick,' which immediately prompted all students to go rushing. Hermione and Ron wordlessly among them. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't bother—he knew what it was. The Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students were arriving that very day, which meant Harry would have just distraction he needed to slip into the hospital wing. When the Great Hall was mostly emptied, Harry himself stood up and headed out, taking a different route.

Cursing because his body wasn't capable of rushing, the black haired child reached the hospital wing and peered around inside the room carefully, drawing the Marauder's map out to peer at it quickly. Pomfrey wasn't in the room, but she wasn't far, either. He had a short time frame to get in, get what he needed, and get out. Forcing himself to run across the room despite the strain it put on his awkwardly thin legs, Harry yanked open the familiar cabinet containing blood replenishing potions. Glancing at the door one last time, he quickly stuffed a week's worth in his magically extended pocket, along with two infection fighting potions, before heading towards the door. Much to his dismay, Madam Pomfrey was also coming through the door.

"Potter? What are you doing in here?" she asked.

"Oh, um, I was just… hoping you would be able to give me a sleeping draught. I haven't been able to sleep lately." Silently praising himself for quick thinking, even though he was sure he was getting less and less oxygen to his brain with each passing day, he just hoped that Pomfrey believed him. He was always paranoid when it came to stealing; it wasn't right, he knew that, but it was quite literally a matter of life and death. He had some internal bleeding—something was punctured or cut—and he was lucky it was nothing important. Or if was, blood replenishing potions seemed to keep him stabilized. That, and leeching himself. Harry Potter was quite literally keeping a pet leech. At least until he learned the blood syphoning spell.

"You do look like you've been run down by a hippogriff, Mr. Potter. Very well, this way." Giving a mental sigh of relief, the young boy followed after the medical wizard to the very same cabinet he'd just visited, watching nervously as she pulled a sleeping draught out and handed it to him. Much too pleased she didn't discover the missing potions, he thanked her quickly and headed out, just in time to see all the Hogwarts student beginning to file to the Great Hall for introductions, as posed by the Headmaster himself.

Slowing down, Harry wondered if anyone would notice him missing, or if they did, would they care to figure out where he had gone. Biting his bottom lip in a nervous habit he'd adopted, the Gryffindor ducked down an empty hall and quickly made his way towards the second floor girls' lavatory. Somehow managing to dodge seeing Moaning Myrtle, Harry whispered to the right faucet and was on his way down to the Chamber of Secrets.

Almost immediately, he was greeted by a three foot hissing serpent, one that was blind and very protective of the Chambers.

"_It me, Coal, calm yourself_," he hissed, calming the serpent almost immediately. The entirely black serpent wasn't the only one in the Chambers; his two brothers and sister were also down there, and they were also the ones responsible for the low rat population in Hogwarts' sewer. Harry had taken the liberty of naming them all, though he wasn't exactly original with it.

"_Master, you've returned_," the serpent purred, slithering over to the child and letting his tongue flicker over the boy's hand. "_You are still ill_…"

"_I will always be ill, Coal_." His tone was defeated, but he didn't linger on what the serpent told him every time he came down to the Chambers. Instead, he followed down the path to the all too familiar open room, where his meager things were gathered. At the beginning of the year, he had stashed some belongings where no one could find them unless a parselmouth—and he didn't think Voldemort was going to come looking for his pet leech, medical books, and pictures of his parents any time soon.

As he approached the tank he had brought down for the leech, he was not surprised to find a foot and a half serpent coiled around it, waiting. "_Hello,_ _Ruby_," he greeted the female, before removing his outer robe and making himself comfortable on the floor. Moments later, his shirt was tugged off over his head, and he set that aside, only to find the blind snake suddenly curling in it, hissing his pleasure of the warmth. Harry couldn't help but to smile.

"_Has Master come to let the vile creature have his blood again_?" Ruby asked, leaning her thin body up to glare into the tank at the leech.

"_Yes_." He didn't bother to explain it to her again, because she knew exactly why he had to leech himself. The four snakes that lived in the Chambers were like his family, and he told them everything—especially since Ron and Hermione seemed to be distancing themselves from him. Soon, he'd have no one _but_ the serpents.

Fishing into the tank with his right hand, Harry let the glamours that shielded his body fall, revealing a myriad of scars, bruises, old cuts and burns. It also revealed how absurdly boney he was; his shoulders and collar bones jutted out awkwardly, while each rib was countable and his abdominal region was sunken in. His arms and legs were incredibly thin, which in turn made them incredibly fragile; he'd already once broken his right arm in class because of a spell backfiring and causing him to jerk, snapping the brittle bone. It wasn't like he wasn't eating, because he was (he'd finally been able to start eating solid things, a shred of a piece of fruit, for example, though it was still mostly soup, broth and juice), but it was a slow process to get the fat back on his body. Until then, he wore the glamours to keep others to see the disturbing sight of his gangly, brittle body.

"_Master, I will catch a rat for you_," Ruby offered, her black eyes peering at his body. "_You have no meat_."

"_Thank you, Ruby, but that's all right_," he said softly, running his fingers over the scales on her head. She seemed disappointed, (as disappointed as a snake could get) but said no more.

Grabbing the leech with his hand, Harry placed the creature over his abdominals, where immediately teeth punctured the skin and it began to drain him. Since a normal leech didn't have teeth sharp enough to cut through the thick skin, Harry had enchanted the thing to be a bit larger, with teeth a bit sharper. It was more painful for him, and he had to be careful of how long he allowed it to leech, but it worked well enough that he didn't stop.

"_Master_," another serpent hissed, slithering through the nearby water onto the cold stone Harry sat upon. This serpent was about two feet in length, and a murky green color. The boy had been just as creative naming him as he had been with Coal and Ruby.

"_Scales, I see the hunt was good_?" Harry could clearly see the lump in the serpents form.

"_Yes, a plump rat on the edge of the pool_," he hissed in agreement, slithering over to the human where he flicked his tongue over the ghostly skin, tasting Harry and getting his skin. Unlike Ruby and Coal, Scales did not comment on the boy's condition.

It was silent, while Harry leeched himself for the proper amount of time. When he began feeling light headed, he immediately pried the leech off with a bit of salt, before putting it back in the tank. Within seconds he had all three serpents coiling around him, eager to bring his brittle body heat when it obviously wasn't able to produce much on its own. Coal coiled around his waist, Scales around his shoulder and neck, and Ruby around an arm. Lucky he could support the extra weight, Harry said nothing as he took a blood replenishing potion and one for fighting infection, before eyeing the sleeping draught. Was it really such a good idea to sleep down there?

"_You… you would keep me safe, right_?" he asked the serpents hesitantly. He was immediately met with hisses of agreement, Coal going as far as to describe the violent death he would bring should someone dare try to hurt his Master. Unable to help the smile, Harry curled down on the stone, bringing his robe to use as a blanket and keeping his shirt as a pillow, before taking the draught.

Harry didn't know what time it was that he finally woke, but a low groan escaped his lips as he sat up, looking around. It took a moment to remember why he was in the Chambers still, before he cast a brief spell to see the time. It was nearly noon, but Saturday. He slept a lot longer than he intended to, but couldn't be bothered to care much. A bitter thought entered his thoughts; he doubted anyone noticed him gone. A disturbing thought followed suit—would anyone even notice if he withered up and died?

Finding his serpent friends were still with him—joined by Brutus, the seven foot dark blue snake—a smile graced his lips and he wondered if he had to leave. Maybe he could get a house elf to pop in down there and bring him food, and he could just live the rest of his life in the Chamber of Secrets. The Wizarding world could go fight Voldemort themselves.

"_Master, let me come with you! I want to keep you safe always!_" Ruby pleaded, rubbing her head against his jaw bone as he sat up. He smiled softly, running his fingers over her scaled head.

"_I wish I could bring you with me, all of you—but I am not allowed, and I would not want anything to happen to you_," he said regretfully, frowning deeply.

"_One day you will be able to take us with you, Master,"_ Scales said, nuzzling him too. It was going to make it harder to leave, Harry knew. He'd leave the few that cared about him to walk among those who didn't even want to see him most days. When he finally climbed out of the Chamber, he left the lavatory swiftly and headed to the great hall, feeling a bit stronger physically, but a lot weaker, emotionally.

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**Reviews would be awesome! Let me know if this story is worth continuing, or even suggestions! I don't have this set in stone yet, kind of making it up as I go, haha. One question: should Harry take Ruby or the others with him? Shrinking charms could work wonders, and then, what do you know, you've got the Boy-Who-Lived walking around with snakes in his pockets! ...Wow, that sounds like a perverted joke. Anywho, I would love reviews!**


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